Can't Look Away(98)

So over Cobb salads at the FCCC—hers sans blue cheese, dressing on the side—I happened to mention that my husband’s ex lived in town.

“To be honest, he doesn’t know that I know,” I’d confessed. I watched her eyes bloom with curiosity. Meredith, too, is a woman who does her fair share of snooping.

When I told her your name, she’d nodded with recognition, pursing her lips. She explained, with blatant distaste, that you weren’t a club member but that your daughters were in the same class.

“I don’t know much about Molly, except that she teaches yoga at the little studio in town,” Meredith had shared. “And she’s married to a guy who grew up here. He’s an O’Neil—big sailing family. Also…” She’d lowered her voice, which hummed with excitement—this woman clearly thrived on gossip. She moved her face across the table, closer to mine. “Between you and me, I hear through the grapevine that the O’Neils are having a very hard time getting pregnant again. Their only child is five. Apparently, they’ve been doing IVF for years with Dr. Ricci—that woman could get a cactus pregnant—and it isn’t working. There’s been at least one miscarriage.”

I nearly buckled at the word. Miscarriage. I’d never spoken it out loud, given a label to my own haunting experience. But that evening, when I was back in the city packing boxes, I did. Jake was still at the office, working late.

“Miscarriage.” I repeated the word several times, the three syllables reverberating in our near-empty apartment. The sound caused me to shudder, to screw my eyes shut until tears spilled out and ran down my cheeks. I sat down on the floor and hugged my knees to my chest and cried. I’d still never told Jake.

When he got home, he found me on the floor, my face wet.

“Sisi?” He crouched down beside me, wiping the tears from my face. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

I blinked. I didn’t want to lie. “I want to have a baby, and you don’t.” This was the truth, part of it at least.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his perfect nose. It wasn’t the first time I’d brought up the topic of children—we’d started discussing it shortly after getting back from our honeymoon. I’d been ovulating; I’d suggested we start trying.

“Sees, we just got married,” he’d said. “I told you, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a dad.”

“But that’s not what you said before.” Jake-and-Sisi babies. Did he not remember his own words? “Besides, you’d be an incredible father. I know we both have scars from our own parents, but I promise you’ll be nothing like your—”

“Look.” His voice was hard, clipped. “Let’s just take it slow. Marriage is a big step.”

I would’ve mentioned the miscarriage then if I’d thought it might change his mind. But the look in his eyes at the mention of fatherhood—pure, unalloyed fear—told me it would only make him run further in the other direction.

So you see, Molly, I know what it feels like to yearn for a baby that might never be. And I know miscarriage. After all my deception, it’s ironic that I didn’t even need to fake the empathy. Mine was the real thing.

Meredith had already given me Dr. Ricci’s name, and so one afternoon in April, I called her office. I pretended to be you, explaining to the receptionist that I couldn’t remember the date of my next visit. Would they mind checking?

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need an appointment to sit in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. I worried about looking suspicious, but when I arrived at the clinic on the morning of your appointment, there were so many women waiting to see Dr. Ricci that I was easily able to slink in unnoticed. I found one of the few vacant seats and opened an ancient issue of People.

You arrived at four on the dot—right on time—and that’s when I went in for the kill. I’d already attended your yoga class—I made sure to sign up using my maiden name—but that moment in Dr. Ricci’s waiting room was really the point from which our friendship took flight. Don’t you agree?

I’ll admit that seeing you and Jake together again was worse than I’d imagined. During that first foursome dinner at our house, his eyes practically dropped out of his head at the sight of you. It was maddening to witness, but what could I do? The groundwork had to be laid.

I figured Jake would put two and two together when he learned Stella’s age—it’s the reason I brought it up at dinner. But he was oblivious. On the Fourth of July, Jake even asked Stella her age himself, completely unprompted. But when she responded that she was five and three quarters, he didn’t bat an eye.

I began losing patience, especially after seeing Jake so clearly smitten in your presence. When I watched the two of you share that passionate kiss under the gazebo at Skipping Beach, then climb into Jake’s car together, the resentment that already coursed through my bloodstream exploded in my veins.

Clearly, time is running out. But you were kind to invite us to Stella’s birthday party in a couple of weeks. We’ll be there. I, for one, wouldn’t miss it for the world.





Chapter Thirty-six

Molly




August 2022

On Stella’s birthday, she jumps into bed with Molly and Hunter at the crack of dawn.

“Mom.” She jostles Molly’s shoulder. “I’m six.”